


A Lapse in Control

by WadaFics



Series: FE3H Kink Meme Fills [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bad magic Writing, Crimson Flower Route, M/M, Mid-War Setting, Mild Violence Depicted, Mutually Repressed Pining, Not yet established relationship, ferdibert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WadaFics/pseuds/WadaFics
Summary: In the midst of the long, wretched war, Hubert has come to find himself gaining a weakness that could lead to his demise. As the battle rages on, Hubert catches sight of Ferdinand being thrown off of his mount and surrounded by enemy soldiers. Despite knowing the risks, he charges forward without his battalion to rescue Ferdinand by any means necessary and loses control of his anger upon the battlefield.(In other words, Hubert protects Ferdinand from oncoming attackers and becomes enraged with the most powerful magic he has ever used in his life.)[ Filled for an FE3H Kink Meme ]
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: FE3H Kink Meme Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787536
Comments: 13
Kudos: 120





	A Lapse in Control

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written to fill the following prompt:
> 
> "Hubert always makes sure to look for Ferdinand's long flowing hair on the battlefield as a way to make sure he's safe.  
> One battle, though, he sees that gorgeous mane go down, and in a fit of rage, Hubert goes absolutely feral trying to protect Ferdinand from any oncoming enemies  
> \+ Shielding Ferdinand with magic just before an enemy can run a spear through his gut. Hubert keeps that magic bubble around Ferdinand until he knows it's safe"

Stepping into battle had never been an act that Hubert feared during the entirety of his life thus far. To be frightened before the confrontation even began was careless; it gave your enemy a stark advantage before a single soul lifted a sword in motion to strike, or pulled back the tight string of a bow. If one’s head was already clouding over with doubt and trivial dismay, then that person was not in the right mindset for battle. To allow the enemy to steal your guard before coming face-to-face was the mark of a novice; a fool who would be quicker to suffer a fatal wound from jitters and lack of composure.

Therefore, it was only necessary that Hubert had become rather desensitized to pre-battle fretfulness from a young age. Any emotion or behavior that did not serve him in furthering Her Majesty’s cause was to be tossed aside and forgotten in the blink of an eye. Although their efforts had them making steady progress in this wretched war, he could not afford to grow complacent. There was not a second to waste; the momentum their forces had been gaining needed to be relentless if they were to march further north into the stronghold of their greatest rivals. Slowing down would only serve to weaken their efforts because it would allow the opposition to recuperate for larger amounts of time, in order to prepare for their inevitable siege upon their land.

Knowing all of this, Hubert had approached the current battle like any other past fight he had been a part these past few grueling years. He was resolute in his plan of attack, having gone over it for the umpteenth time at dawn, when he and his squadron had awoken from their makeshift campsite. Being one of the leading generals for the Imperial Army was a responsibility that Hubert took as seriously as he possibly could. He was strict with his men, keeping them in check and being certain that all were kept in tight formation when approaching any battlefield.

It was well known that of the various generals the Empress had selected for the war effort, Hubert was whispered among the ranks as the most stern and rigorous with his training and methods. Although Hubert was also one of the more compassionate generals, this was less spoken of. He had an underlying concern for the well-being of those under his command because he knew their lives were resting in his hands. To be a fool and lose his own pitiful life in the throw of battle was a future he had accepted long ago, but he had no such wish to allow those beneath him to suffer from his negligence. Hence, his words and actions were strict with the purpose of keeping his battalion alive through the grimmest realities of war.

Clearing his mind of idle emotion and thought, Hubert followed the command of Edelgard once the time for combat arrived and charged forward into his rightful position upon the field. His formation was further in the back, as his squadron was mainly composed of those who relied on magic like himself. He felt adrenaline pump through his veins with every step he took, fueling the inner fire that was constantly burning with determination to see this bloody war to the bitter end. Even if he had to drag his weary bones across the entirety of Fódlan and slaughter an infinite number of unknown faces, Hubert would keep pushing forward until his very last breath was painfully taken from him with the bleak embrace of death.

Yet, despite how resolute Hubert was in his devotion for clearing a path for the Empire to rise above the brainwashed followers of Seiros, no single human being could follow their personal principles or standards all the time. Even if he was nearly entirely dedicated to his craft and expectations of battle to continue their victorious streak, he was but a mere mortal man. He had his own share of weaknesses and faults that could lead to his untimely demise, if he were to succumb to such a flaw.

What flaw would a man of Hubert von Vestra’s caliber ever be? One would assume it to be something strange and unexpected, perhaps an unknown physical ailment that has been well hidden for the entirety of his life? But that was simply _not true_. The reality was that the ever aloof, austere Marquis Vestra had fallen victim to one of the most common blunders of humanity. In the midst of this horrendous strife, against all of his logic and attempts to remain detached from those around him, he had grown soft-hearted for one particular man.

In the midst of the grisly combat that consumed their daily lives, Hubert had been stunned to find himself fighting for more than the cause of his liege. This separate cause took the shape of an earnest, _absurdly idealistic_ cavalier that had remained loyal to the Empire, despite his own family name having been shamed and ripped from grace. Every passing moment, Hubert wonders if the day where he would come to regret his decision to stick by Lady Edelgard and himself would arrive.

Perhaps in the beginning, when they had just begun engaging in combat against their old friends from the monastery, Hubert would have had no trouble accepting such betrayal from any of their housemates. His interest has not been aligned with befriending those around him, but instead focusing on assuring every step of their well conceived plan fell into place in secrecy. Yet, it seemed that time could truly change a person in ways that would have seemed impossible to himself years prior.

Now, if he- _Ferdinand_ -were to turn against them after all the toil and strife they have suffered during this hellish hostility, Hubert is unsure how he would cope with such scathing **treachery**. Not when both men had grown up immensely during these past five years, maturing past their childish bickering and petty nuances that had sparked between them during their academy days. Where there had once been irritation and exhaustion when having to interact and work alongside Ferdinand beforehand, now there was a tenderness in his heart and a repressed pining for something far more than his acquaintanceship.

In the brief moments of reprieve between the bloodshed, Hubert had found himself sharing quiet affections with Ferdinand. Such delicate moments occurred when the two would spend a night watch together by a flickering fire, sharing hushed words and gentle laughter that lightened the heaviness of Hubert’s heart. Perhaps Ferdinand would make a comment about the most recent battle, but he often tried to distract Hubert from such realities during these private moments. He would try to find some minuscule topic for them to half-heartedly bicker about in whispered tones, or he would merely comment about an old story or opera he attended in the past, so that Hubert would openly mock him with the warmest of insults. Ferdinand knew he should have been asleep, for the watch was that of Hubert’s duty that evening, but he found himself getting lost in the comfort of Hubert’s tired voice. His hand would rest on top of the other’s gloved one, interlocking their fingers, but neither man would say a word about this.

Although upon the surface it seemed their affections were mutual, both were too scared to take the leap to truly address these feelings out loud. It felt wrong to try and share in such sentiments while they were still struggling every day to march their campaign further into the north. Thus, both men were reserved about granting such affections between one another. Yet, Hubert had found himself occasionally attempting to describe the complexity of his feelings for Ferdinand in writing, but each paper would be torn to shreds and tossed in a flame without a second thought. His ability to express himself, even in letter form, was suffering from the stress of constant confrontation. His mind and body were far too fatigued to articulate himself in a manner elegant enough for a man of Ferdinand’s stature. Once he had managed to survive through this war, then he could allow himself a chance to reveal his stifled infatuation.

Although Hubert was well aware that his feelings for Ferdinand were a weakness and liability to his ability to fight, he was usually quite talented at keeping himself from caving into such a flaw when taking the battlefield. Yet, no one man was perfect or able to follow their personal principles without a single slip up. Up to this point, when the two had been deployed on missions together, neither had been in a grave enough situation to warrant any such mistakes.

However, there was a first time for everything. The Faerghan forces seemed endless; when one troop was cut down, another would charge into the field shortly after them in the opposite direction. The enemy’s men also lacked any strict tactics, often charging at them with full force, blinded my mere rage and aggression. It made the entire operation crumble into chaos, but Hubert attempted to keep his own battalion in formation as the corpses kept piling upon the snow covered ground.

Marching further into the thick of the fray, Hubert felt confident that he was leading his men wisely through the relentless assault of their foes. He always lost count of how many soldiers he sent to an early grave by this point in a fight, his mind growing foggy and relying on the instincts he has ingrained in him from hours of training and hashing out battle tactics. His body feels _frigid_ in the ungodly climate of the Kingdom of Faerghus, but he pushes past the discomfort as his boots crunch upon the dirtied snow. Once white and pristine, the snowy ground was strained from the trampling of muddied boots and splattering of blood that dyed the ground with its crimson hue.

By this point in a regular battle, he would go searching for Ferdinand by gradually moving his battalion forward. Since Ferdinand was a front-liner on the battlefield, their positions were usually rather distanced from one another, and it wasn’t until their army made enough ground that Hubert would allow himself to march forward into a more vulnerable state. Yet, Hubert knew that this particular fight was not as straightforward as previous excursions. These soldiers seemed willing to sacrifice everything without a care for their lives, storming into certain death repeatedly, despite the previous outcome of their allies evident with the plethora of corpses scattering the ground.

So, Hubert kept his men slowly pressing forward, his eyes scanning for that familiar long, flowing hair of Ferdinand. Previously, he had been able to calm his muffled anxieties about the well-being of Ferdinand whenever he spotted the burning, orange locks flowing into disarray from the intensity of conflict as Ferdinand would dispatch a number of soldiers from upon his horse. It was like a beacon that told Hubert that the other was racing forward, strong and proud as he took down man after man with exquisite skill.

But he was _not so lucky_ today. When his gaze finally catches a glimpse of Ferdinand in the distance, he is stunned to see those wavy locks being overwhelmed and cut off from his battalion. Although he does his best to deflect the advances of the soldiers around him, Ferdinand is overrun and is dismounted from his horse. That is when the vivid orange mane disappears from Hubert’s sight and is swallowed up by nameless soldiers that surround him like predators waiting to go in for the kill upon prey.

The timeless hours spent upon developing and teaching proper formation with his soldiers seems to dissipate instantly. His own logical command to never be distracted from emotional disturbances is tossed to the side like garbage as he breaks apart from his battalion. A few of the men call out in confusion as Hubert takes a few steps out of their arrangement, but his ears go deaf to everything except the nagging voice inside his own mind. He knew that it was **idiotic** to charge forward into the heat of battle alone; it was practically a guaranteed suicide mission. Still, his legs move without him telling them to do so, sprinting across the snow in a reckless fashion to reach Ferdinand in time.

_Run! Go faster! Before it is too late, and he is stolen from you before you have even had the chance to properly explain how much he even means to you._

_Do. Not. Stop._

_A moment of hesitation could be the difference between his life and death, and this is one life you do not wish to have stain your bloodied hands._

His thoughts are relentless, pushing him past his limits and past other battalions and adversaries locked in combat. He nearly trips a few times over the dead bodies littering the floor, but he doesn’t have the time to catch his breath or stop. Those few who dare to try and raise an arm against him are quickly silenced with a rapid raise of his hand and blast of miasma that sucks the very life out of them without a moment of hesitation. He sloppily fires bursts of his magic into any foe that dares to block his path, feeling no remorse as he exterminates their lives in a split second.

Catching a glimmer of those orange curls, he spots Ferdinand attempting to rise to his feet and scrambling to find the spear he had dropped from having the wind knocked out of him after falling from his mount. He knew that Ferdinand could not manage to survive against the oncoming assault, not in the rugged state he was in from injuries he had sustained in the midst of this battle. So, he sucks in a sharp breath and calls out to him as loud as he can muster in the midst of the clashing of weapons, trotting of horses, and screams of agony that fill the air.

“STAY DOWN! DO. NOT. MOVE.” His voice is booming, attracting much attention from both their allies and rivals. He doesn’t know what overcomes him, as his hands raise, and he is suddenly casting magic in a manner that lacks any sense of control or refinement. The sheer force of his spells is **groundbreaking** , slaughtering all those who had enclosed around Ferdinand. Before one spell can even finish, he is setting off another to swallow up a poor unsuspecting soul in its merciless grip.

Ferdinand had stayed upon the ground, his amber eyes wide as he witnessed the absolute ferocity of Hubert. Never had he seen Hubert act like this-- nearly **_feral_** with the aggressive nature of his magic. It was well known that Hubert held an impressive amount of power and knowledge in respect to his talent in reason, but this was on a whole different level. The after effects of his spells were leaving divots and burn marks across the ground, melting away the snow and leaving large, gaping holes in the wake where a person once stood mere seconds before.

Truthfully, the sight frightens Ferdinand in the back of his mind, unaware that Hubert was capable of such destruction. However, his main concern is the rising number of enemies coming towards his direction as he attracted attention easily with such vicious spell casting. Gripping onto his spear, he rises to his feet against the instruction of Hubert. Yet, he feels a screeching pain upon his leg, making him nearly fall back down in a heap as soon as he tries to put any weight upon his left foot. He attempts to drag himself over to Hubert’s side, wishing to assist him in fighting back against the oncoming storm.

“ _H-Hubert!_ Stand down, I-” He is cut off as an arrow nearly hits him, dodging it swiftly and cursing under his ragged breath at the screaming pain in his leg that shoots up his spine, similar to a brutal hit of thoron coursing through one’s body. His left leg may or may not have been broken, but he was truly in no shape to fight after suffering such a fall from being forced off of his horse.

The _wicked_ expression upon Hubert’s face and _nefarious_ gaze of his eyes falters as he hears Ferdinand cry out his name, dragging himself closer to Hubert’s side, but barely able to move but a few steps as his leg is far too injured to continue fighting. His eyes soften as he hears the pained breathing of the other man, knowing he was resisting the urge to scream from the massive aching sensation in his left leg. Although he knows injuries were an inevitable part of combat, he felt the **rage** within his heart inflame further at seeing Ferdinand left in such torment.

He turns to get a better look at him, and that is when Hubert spots a random soldier marching towards Ferdinand with a spear, followed by a few others straggling behind him. His heart sinks inside his chest, and he must be quick to react in order to stop Ferdinand from being impaled by the oncoming spear from behind. He calls out his name to try and alert him while rushing forward to take his place in front of him. Ferdinand turns around, but he is not quick enough-- _slowed down by his injuries_ \--and is unable to raise his weapon in order to dodge the oncoming assault towards his abdomen.

Yet, Hubert gets in front of him, and sets off an enormous cast of dark spikes, stopping the soldier before he can pierce Ferdinand in the gut. Instead, Hubert captures him in his own spell, impaling him upon the magical spikes and listening to the sound of him gurgling upon his own blood. While he was known as a villain to many onlookers, this was one of the few times he truly felt they were _right_ , as he continuously pierced the man and those behind him as soon as they came into the range of his spell. A **hideous** laugh bubbles up in his throat, and he allows it to fall from his lips, feeling a sense of pride as he massacres practically an entire battalion.

Still upon the ground, Ferdinand gasps as he is suddenly surrounded by a massive barrier, almost like a magic bubble that encompasses him. Hubert focused a large portion of his left over magic on shielding Ferdinand from any damage. Meanwhile, he stands before him and continues casting spell after spell, despite how he was running low in his magic reserves. His body begins to feel the effects of such heavy magic use in such a short amount of time, growing weak and exhausted all the way down into his bones.

He is much more aware of the cold climate, as his body was losing its body heat from expending so much force into his magic without a second to recuperate or breathe. His hands almost feel numb as he groggily attempts to cast a blast of magic at an enemy trying to retreat far out of his range. The spell hits nothing, and it marks the final straw as the barrier around Ferdinand breaks and releases him. He has run dry, but he holds his shaking hands forward as if he were still able to go on.

Able to move, Ferdinand scurries to his feet in a reckless fashion to grab onto Hubert. His arms wrap around him from behind, and both men fall onto their knees in the middle of the bloodied snow. Ferdinand’s arms crush Hubert in his grip, pressing his face into the back of his neck. Wet tears prick his eyes and press against Hubert’s cape and dampen it.

“Stop, please! _Hubert_ \-- You have done enough.” Ferdinand’s voice is hoarse as he holds him in place, feeling the way Hubert’s body shivers from the cold. He does his best to wrap him in his embrace, although his body heat was limited as well from being forced to fight in this weather for such an extended period of time. Not that combat was ever a quick and painless event, but this particular battle seemed to drag along ceaselessly.

As Hubert fell to the ground, he looked down at his hands, holding his palms up as both arms trembled and shook like leaves. The aftershock of using such powerful magic left his body quivering, unable to handle such an enormous amount of power coursing through his fingers without a single pause. He felt like a walking corpse himself, his muscles and bones heavy and numb to the cold around them. He had never lost control of himself before in such a manner, but he could now understand why people warned at a young age not to over-do your use of magic. Unlike a weapon that could be repaired or replaced, a mage’s body was their weapon. If one did not take good care of it, then they were likely to **die from overexertion.**

“Ferdinand, I…” His voice is a whisper, throat dry and unable to speak. He has much he wishes to say to him, to ask about his injuries and if he needed assistance with retreating from the field, but his tongue feels tangled and unable to utter another syllable.

But Ferdinand fills in the gaps as he loosens his arms from his waist to reach forward and grab onto his hands, squeezing them affectionately while still pressed against his back. He tries to calm their incessant shaking, interlocking their fingers and gently running his thumb over his knuckles. He rests his head upon his shoulder, taking in a deep breath and leaning against Hubert’s cold, pale cheek.

“ _Shhh_ , do not speak. I can see the others coming to our aid.” He nudges against him, not wishing to move a single muscle until their friends arrive, “...You are **foolish**. Recklessly throwing your own life into peril for _my_ sake. Pushing past your limits to protect me-- As if _I_ could ever live with myself if you were to fall in my stead.” His voice grows tight, and he bites down on his lip to resist the urge to start sobbing like a child.

“I did what I must.” Hubert replies instantly, his voice soft and muffled, “For you.”

Ferdinand is unable to stop the small whimper that leaves him, squeezing his trembling hands harder. How was he supposed to be upset with this man? He felt such anger coursing through him for his lack of care for his own life, but he was also touched by such honest devotion, when neither were willing to confront their affections up to this point. It was perplexing and far too heavy of emotions to be sorting in such a _ragged_ condition, both mentally and physically.

“Hubert,...Thank you.” He mutters, pressing his lips faintly upon his cheek in a sad excuse for a kiss before letting his face fall back into the crook of his neck and shoulder. “...Please, do not throw your own life away like that.”

Hubert felt his gut twist with a nasty entanglement of **nauseating affection** at that comment. He forces out a weak laugh and finally squeezes back against Ferdinand's hands, able to gain a sliver of feeling back in his trembling fingertips. He can hear the far-off voices of their friends, Linhardt and Petra coming closer with their battalions marching behind them, but he lets them fade into nothing as he places his limited attention upon Ferdinand alone.

“I will not allow myself to die before we win. I promise you that much, Ferdinand.” He looks to the disheveled hair in the corner of his eye before tuning and pressing his lips to the top of his head in a meek fashion.

“Do you promise the same? You are not allowed to die before we see the end.” Hubert’s words are muffled in his hair, and Ferdinand whines audibly once more. Raising his head and sharing a longing gaze with Hubert, he mutters the next words like revered prayer.

“I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope this fills your prompt how you wanted!  
> If you enjoyed, please leave a kudos/comment as it really encourages me to continue writing :3  
> I find it humorous that I went to find some kinky smut to fill, but this is the first prompt to grab my attention, but I had a blast writing it!  
> As always, hit me up on Twitter @MahouMiss to chat about FerdiBert all day, every day!


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